Impossible Things
by petrelli heiress
Summary: In which Peter and Sylar make inappropriate costume choices, much to Matt's horror and Elle's delight. Well, at least Claire has a new anecdote to add to her repertoire and Mohinder has a chance to defend Matt. Crack. One-shot.


**Impossible Things**

**Characters/Pairings: Peter/Sylar, Elle/Monica, Matt/Mohinder, Claire, Noah the Younger, implied Luke/Lyle and Noah/Janice, references to evil fairies and clowns  
**

**Author's Note: At first Peter really was going to go as a clown, but then innuendo jumped at me.**

**Warning: Sexual innuendo. Anyone know a word for a bundle of sticks?**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Even Peter's costume. Well, unless it was an evil fairy.**

* * *

It was a costume party hosted by Claire, Elle and Monica for some obscure reason no one really wanted to know about, seeing as many of them knew the directions these ladies' minds usually took.

Peter had delayed choosing a costume. At first he thought about going as Superman but that soon seemed like too obvious a choice. Plus that whole underwear thing sort of freaked him out. Eventually, since it was the day of the party and he had no costume, he'd grabbed a few odds and ends lying around his very empty apartment (boy, would he have to get more furniture) and improvised.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Hopefully Claire wouldn't be too disappointed in his obvious lack of time management skills. After all, tonight was the only night all three women had free. Claire was so tied up with stunt work she rarely had time for her family anymore. Elle was so busy being the CEO of an electrical appliances company, her time was mostly spent between that and taking care of her two year old son, Noah. And Monica, well, she worked all sorts of hours as Head of Security at some fancy bank in Manhattan. The only people she saw regularly were Elle and Noah, and that was only because she lived with them.

He gave one last glance at his reflection. Well. It would have to do.

As soon as he entered the house he was accosted by Mohinder, who had a terrified look on his face. "Don't let Matt see you dressed like that," he said, fearfully. He glanced around as though the private detective would appear out of nowhere, which was, surprisingly, very possible. "He's terrified of...you-know-whats." He gestured at Peter's costume.

Peter frowned and glanced down at himself. "What? You mean fai--"

Mohinder clapped a hand over his mouth. "Don't even say it." He kept his hand there for a moment longer and then took it away. He rushed off, possibly to stop Matt from seeing just what Peter was wearing. Hopefully he would succeed. Peter did not want to cause a scene.

He heard a very familiar chuckle come from the drinks table. He sighed. Well, of course he'd find Sylar there. The man was very anti-social, why he insisted on coming to these gatherings was anybody's guess. He didn't get on very well with other people after all, mostly because whenever he'd open his mouth something about the other person being insignificant would come out and, well, after you call someone insignificant, it's all downhill from there.

"You..." Sylar began before being unable to continue due to uncontrollable laughter. "God, Peter, where did you pull that from?"

Peter sniffed. His brain scrambled for a witty retort and came up with, "Well...so's your face!"

Sylar just laughed even more at that. Peter really did not like him.

It took half an hour for Matt to spot him. For a bulky man, he managed to hide under the coffee table quite well. Mohinder tried to coax him out from under it. When Peter approached in an attempt to assist Mohinder, he received a kick in the face for his troubles.

Peter, his nose bloody and broken, felt himself being pulled away and let it happen. Once he and his mysterious saviour had relocated to the kitchen, which was mysteriously empty, Peter poked at his nose gingerly, hissing at the pain that small gesture produced. An ice pack was pushed into his hands and he gently pressed it to his nose, leaning his head back as he did so. Eventually Claire's power kicked in. He wondered if she was close by. Maybe she was his mysterious saviour.

He put down the ice pack and realised very quickly that his mysterious saviour was in no way the blonde ex-cheerleader-turned-stuntwoman. He was Sylar, who looked much more serious than he had been moments ago.

"Peter, why did you dress up as a fairy?" Sylar asked. "You know Matt's terrified of them." Everyone knew this, ever since that incident last year when they'd actually met real fairies, and, boy, had that been a disaster. They had kidnapped Matt and apparently done some terrible things to him. He'd spent an entire two months after Mohinder, dressed top to toe in leather since fairies were apparently deathly afraid of it, had rescued him, hiding under his bed.

"Well, I forgot," Peter said, because he had. He'd contemplated dressing up as a clown but belatedly remembered that Claire, Elle _and _Monica were all deathly afraid of them (again due to an incident only last month when they'd been attacked by an army of evil clowns - again, what a disaster, he'd had to dress up as one of them). After that there was really only one choice, although he did wonder where that dress had come from. It was awfully lucky – or unlucky, depending on how you thought his night had been going so far – that he'd found it when he had, otherwise he would have been without a costume.

"You do know what that particular costume says about you, right?" Sylar asked, in case he hadn't.

"Oh yeah," Peter said, lamely. This really wasn't his night for good comebacks. He gestured at Sylar's own costume. "And what about you? Really, a bundle of sticks?"

Sylar smirked. "Exactly."

Peter stared blankly at him. Slowly a look of comprehension dawned. "Oh, I see." He smirked.

There was a moment of silence.

"Want to go find a closet?"

"Sure."

Hours later – it was in fact early morning – Claire finally decided to clean up.

She opened the closet.

She closed it and went downstairs where Monica sat at the dining table, going over the plan to take down Megalomaniac #1245 which Noah the Elder had emailed her that very morning, at around four a.m. Obviously Janice wasn't keeping him distracted enough. "You're never going to believe this," Claire said, "but I saw a fairy and a bundle of sticks in the closet upstairs."

Monica blinked at her. "What would a fairy be doing with a bundle of sticks in our closet?"

Claire grinned at her. "I don't know, but Peter and Sylar were sure trying to find out."

They started laughing. Elle came in to see what all the noise was about, Noah asleep in her arms, his head resting on her shoulder. It had taken him the entire night to fall asleep. She made a note to never have a party in this house again.

She did not believe either of them since she had been trying to push the two of them together for years, to no avail (the costume party had been her idea, though). For it to have happened by chance seemed impossible.

A glance in the closet made her believe that impossible things happened every day. So she went out and bought a lottery ticket. And what do you know, she won.

Peter and Sylar, unaware of the commotion and gossip they had inevitably caused, both woke up in very uncomfortable positions. Peter woke first and, with a frown, realised Sylar was hugging his wings, which had mysteriously detached themselves during the night. He grabbed them back and the movement woke Sylar, who found himself with his head on the floor and his legs up in the air. His first thought was of how exactly he'd managed to get himself into this position. The second was that the other person in the closet with him was Peter, a thought that horrified him since he definitely hadn't had that much to drink, and even if he had, Claire's ability should have taken care of the effects.

He tried to turn himself right side up and only succeeded in making a bad situation worse. Peter, for whatever irrational reason, thought he was trying to steal the wings again, and so bashed him around the head with them.

Eventually, after much kafuffle, Sylar found himself squished beside Peter on the limited floor space, Peter's feet in his face. He pushed them away and somehow found himself on top of Peter, instantly wanting to repeat some of last night's activities which he now remembered with perfect clarity (his memeory was like that; he'd become used to it over the years). He hadn't realised he was that flexible. Or that Peter was ambidextrous.

Peter smirked up at him. He had forgotten all about his wings, which were now entangled with some of the coathangers in the closet. He was starting to remember last night's activities as well, and wasn't averse to repeating them. As long as Sylar didn't mind, of course.

Did Sylar mind?

No, he did not.

***

Elle spent the lottery money buying Peter and Sylar a house, conveniently located right next door. And of course on some much needed gifts for Monica. And a new cot for Noah. Oh, and a pair of binoculars.

Claire continued with her life; the only new thing being that she now had a new anecdote to add to her repertoire. She eventually met someone dressed as a clown at some random carnival her employer had given her tickets to. She'd smacked him across the head, rendering him unconscious, and went on her merry way. The clown man needed some serious reconstruction surgery but eventually became Megalomaniac #4589, defeated through the combined force of pretty lights and hail.

Matt finally emerged from under the coffee table when Mohinder promised he'd bash Peter on the head himself if the man ever came near him. The fairies returned a year later and, as Matt watched Mohinder fend them off with a candle stub and some iron horseshoes, he thought, _well, fuck this shit_ and drew his Iron Sword of Destiny (which he'd discovered in a pawnshop just down the street) and smashed into the fairies with real gusto. The fairies did not return for many thousands of years, by which time they had seriously reconsidered kidnapping anyone due to what had happened the last time they had done so.

Peter and Sylar eventually came out of the closet, knowing full well every aspect of that phrase, because the girls really did need to clean the house. They relocated to a hotel room because a) Peter's apartment had been taken over by Noah the Elder, who was moping around ever since his latest relationship had crashed and burned (Janice Parkman, of all people, was sometimes there to help him through it), and b) Sylar's apartment had exploded after one too many lessons with Luke, who had quite a lot of adolescent angst and even some unrequited (or so he thought) love for a certain Bennet. Peter and Sylar then split their time between sex and the world (which was a right bitch when you needed some personal time which was mostly spent either listening to your lover ranting about the insignificance of the human race, and how he was better than everyone or having sex in wildly inappropriate places to shut said lover up).

In any case, everyone seemed happy. That is, until the next megalomaniac came around but she was easily defused since she made the mistake of dressing up as a fairy around Matt. Oh, and a Petrelli was there to catch her when she fell. But that is another story for another day, since it doesn't involve us.

_I highly doubt Simon would appreciate that remark._

_Oh, shut up. Just because he's your nephew._

_...well, so's your face._

_My face is your nephew? Really, Peter, think before you speak. It helps._

_Oh, like I should take advice from you, Mister Everyone-Is-Insignificant-Except-Me._

_But everyone is, don't you see?_

_..._

_...except for you, of course._

_That's better. Now, where were we?_

_Well, you had your hand _here _and I had my fingers _here_..._

_...and then what?_

_Well, I think we're just supposed to wing it._

_Really? But we've always had an instruction manual before..._

_Oh, shut up._

* * *

**Oh, hello again, Goddess of Crack. How have you been? Good? Good.**

**Review please. **


End file.
